Wednesday, August 27, 2014

The Minstrel’s Song

The Minstrel’s Song

Couldn't help feeling small at four feet tall,
For the other kids were a lot taller.
He thought, best they didn't see him at all,
And so he tried to make himself smaller.

But that didn't help, it made things much worse.
He had nowhere to run, no place to hide,
He felt that his life had become a curse;
Their bullying broke something deep inside.

He hated being the butt of their jokes,
Of black anger he had a full ration.
As he endured all the giggles and pokes,
Dark revenge became his bitter passion.

His school work suffered as he spent free time,
On devising dark plans in his bedroom.
He reveled in thoughts of his future crime,
Of encompassing his tormentors' doom.

His father had a few weapons, of course,
For hunting, and protection from danger.
Sharp tools for a young mind with no remorse,
Filled with hurt and pain, and fueled by anger.

Deep in the night before he launched his plan,
He lay awake as his heart grew colder.
He saw the dimmest shadow of a man,
Who reached toward him and touched his right shoulder.

A smile and a flash of brilliant green light,
Left his room fully illuminated;
Revealed a man, holding flame -- green and bright,
And who laughed at the fire he created.

The man’s costume was one that minstrels wore,
In the photos in his history book.
Then The Minstrel’s great voice began to soar,
So loudly, it seemed that the whole house shook.

As he saw his vicious plan playing out,
He saw his own face, with anger-filled eyes.
He saw bloody children scream, cry, and shout;
He felt his guns fire, he heard their death cries.

He saw himself die, shot dead by police,
As bullets tore through his flesh, he felt pain.
But the relentless vision didn’t cease,
He felt others’ pain, again and again.

He felt the sorrow that parents endure,
When lives that they treasure are ripped away.
He became a disease with no known cure,
A bleak malady that had come to stay.

He saw his parents, so devastated,
Their guilt amplified by loss of their child.
No longer victim, his actions hated,
Now forever his name would be reviled.

He’d reached the limit of his endurance,
His soul, in agony screamed in the dark.
He cried out, weakly seeking assurance,
He could turn from this path, so bleak and stark.

The bright green fire, so recently blazing,
Dimmed as the song of The Minstrel grew mild.
Sudden relief from pain was amazing;
Once again, he was just a frightened child.

Then The Minstrel sang a song of power,
Revealing the strength of his youthful mind.
He could use the skills he’d learned hour by hour,
To excel in life -- smart, happy, and kind.

The Minstrel smiled as he faded away,
The future he saw was one he could trust:
The boy would work hard, succeed from that day,
And would leave all those bullies in the dust.

Mick McKellar
August 2014

A successful life is the best revenge against bullies who seek to feed on weakness.


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